Somebody That I Used To Know
by HHHereComesTrouble
Summary: "But you didn't have to cut me off, make out like it never happened and that we were nothing." Stephanie McMahon is just somebody that Paul Levesque used to know, but now he wants to know her again...HHH/Steph.
1. Somebody That I Used to Know

**Hey guys! So I did my first songfic! I don't feel the greatest today, so the writing isn't very good, but I really wanted to post this anyways. Please leave your reviews and tell me what you think! Also, let me know which story you want me to update tomorrow(: As of now, this is just a oneshot, but I might add a part 2 if enough people want me to... Enjoy! **

"Steph, are you taking Aurora to softball practice tomorrow, or do you want me to?" I ask, as she absently flips through a stack of papers. She briefly looks up from her work to meet eyes with me.

"Doesn't matter," was her simple reply. Steph's tone was so monotonous—so lifeless. I look around her office, feeling like a bit of a stranger to this very familiar place.

_Now and then I think of when we were together_

_Like when you said you felt so happy you could die_

I think of all the good times we've shared in this room... Making each other laugh so hard that our stomachs ached. Blasting music and singing the wrong words. Stephanie trying to teach me how to slow dance. Me surprising her with flowers. When the stresses of business started to take their tolls on us for the day, we would hide away in Steph's office. We were like two school kids with a crush, cutting class just to be together.

Man, how times change—people change.

_I told myself that you were right for me_

_But felt so lonely in your company_

_But that was love and it's an ache I still remember_

"Then I guess I will," I mutter quietly with a sigh. She doesn't even look up—no nod of approval or anything. All I need is some sign that she actually heard what I said. But still nothing, so I guess I'll be on my way. I head for the door, without saying a goodbye.

"Oh, and Paul?"

I anxiously turn at her voice. She doesn't notice the flash of hope in my eyes.

"Can the kids stay with you this weekend? I got called into the New York office," she explains, looking into my eyes for an answer, even though she already knows it. I would never turn down the opportunity to spend more time with my kids. They're 10, 8, and 6 now—and still growing like weeds. Quite frankly, every other weekend doesn't cut it for me, but unfortunately it's not my decision. It's the court's decision.

"Of course. They're always welcome," I reply truthfully. Steph nods and stares off behind me. I wonder what she's thinking about. "I better get going."

She looks back at me, nodding again. Is that the only way she can respond? With a stupid nod, because she has nothing to say to me? Although, the divorce was made official just 3 years ago, things have been like this for a while now. And it's not like we could hide it from the kids. They understood that their parents didn't get along anymore, but didn't know why. To be honest, I don't know why either.

_You can get addicted to a certain kinda sadness_

_Like resignation to the end, always the end _

_So when we found that we could not make sense_

_Well you said that we would still be friends_

_But I'll admit that I was glad that it was over_

Things just became different. Steph became so distant. She didn't want to be around me like she used to, and as much as I hate to admit it, I didn't want to be around her. All our conversations turned to arguments. Each day became worse. Something was happening to our once incredibly strong love.

_But you didn't have to cut me off _

_Make it like it never happened and that we were nothing _

_I don't even need your love, but you treat me like a stranger_

_And that feels so rough_

But now here I am, more confused than ever. Seeing her like this always puts me on an emotional rollercoaster ride. All those feelings I had when I first married her, return for brief moments at a time. I find myself feeling regret for letting her slip away. I want to know what it was I did wrong in our marriage. But then I remind myself that maybe it wasn't me that changed, but her.

_No, you didn't have to stoop so low_

_Have your friends collect your records_

_And then change your number_

_Guess that I don't need that though_

_Now you're just somebody that I used to know_

I realize that I'm still standing in front of her desk, but she doesn't seem to notice or care. Once again, she's flipping through those damn papers that always seem to be more important than me.

"Bye, Steph," I say quietly. Her name is the hardest thing for me to say. Because she's not that person anymore. She's not the Steph I fell in love with—she's not _my_ Steph.

Slowly, she looks up at me and flashes a small smile. Just before I head for the door, something in her blue eyes catches my attention.

Steph used to get that sparkle in her eyes when she saw me, and only me. Towards the end of our marriage, it slowly faded away. This is the first time I've seen it since then. But it's gone just as fast as it came. The smile on my face disappears as well, before I exit her office.

_Now you're just somebody that I used to know_

_Now you're just somebody that I used to know_

I pull my car into her driveway to pick up the kids for the weekend. Much like her office, this house is filled with so many good memories. But bad ones, too.

I knock on the door, instead of ringing the bell. Steph prefers when people knock. She used to complain how the doorbell sounded like an alarm. The kids would cry when they were babies, and the dogs would go crazy.

It's Aurora who answers the door.

"Daddy!" she yells, running into me and wrapping her arms around my waist.

"Hey Aurora," I greet her happily. At least I have my kids to put a smile on my face. "I missed you, kiddo." She pulls away, with a huge grin spread across her face as well. I can't help but think of the Steph I fell in love with when she smiles.

Speaking of my ex-wife, she finally decides to make an appearance at the door.

"Mommy! Can Daddy come inside?" Murphy asks from behind Steph. I wave to my little girl.

"Sure," Steph says without hesitation. Things could be worse, right? At least we're not those divorced parents who refuse to make contact with one another. Our relationship isn't what I would call good, but it's not terrible either.

"Yay! Daddy, you have to come see my room!" Murphy squeals, grabbing my hand eagerly. That's right. Apparently, they were redoing Murphy's room. She's constantly been telling me about all of this. She was a little disappointed that it took longer than she thought. Steph kept slowing down the process, so she could focus on her job.

"Wait for me!" Vaughn screams. So now we're running up the stairs—my three daughters and myself. It's just like old times. Almost.

_Now and then I think of all the times you screwed me over_

_But had me believin' it was always something that I'd done_

But I don't wanna live that way

_Reading into every word you say_

_You said that you could let it go_

_And I wouldn't catch you hung up on somebody that you used to know-oh-oh_

I've been at the house for almost an hour, but Steph still hasn't forced me to leave. She'll miss her flight to New York if she doesn't get going soon. I tell the kids to keep playing—that I'll be back in a few moments.

Each step I take through the hallway only fills me with more sadness. I approach the master bedroom, the one that used to be ours. But I guess it's just hers now. The door's slightly cracked open, but I knock softly anyways. When there's no answer, I push it open and enter. Everything looks the same, like she literally hasn't touched a thing since I moved out. I feel like an intruder.

I spot her standing on the balcony through the sliding glass door. Reluctantly, I slide it open to join her. Back when we were happily together, she would be slightly startled when I opened the door. Now? No reaction. I would wrap my arms around her waist from behind and pull her close to me. Now? I stand a good three feet away from her, while she refuses to make eye contact.

_But you didn't have cut me off_

_Make it like it never happened and that we were nothing (oh)_

_I don't even need your love, but you treat me like a stranger _

_and that feels so rough_

_No, you didn't have to stoop so low_

_Have your friends collect you records_

_And then change your number (oh)_

_Guess that I don't need that though_

_Now you're just somebody that I used to know_

I want to say something to her. I need some sense of closure to our marriage. At least an explanation. What went wrong? Why was she becoming this distant stranger to everyone?

"I really don't know," Stephanie whispers. I jump back a little… Did she just read my mind? Or maybe I'm talking out loud. She senses my confusion. "We're both thinking it, Paul. When you come into my office, I see it in your eyes. You long for the person that I once was."

Now it's my turn to do the silent nodding. How do I respond to that?

"I want her back, too," Stephanie admits with a sigh. "I just don't know what happened. I changed, I guess. And I'm not good at dealing with change, so I just shut you out."

"You can go back if you want," I whisper sincerely. I don't know if that's true, but the least I can do is make her believe it is.

"What makes you think so?"

"The look in your eyes. I see you every now and then. The you that I fell in love with," I say softly. For once, I feel like she's actually listening to me when I speak. She really does want to go back. "You're in there somewhere, Steph," I confirm, gesturing to her heart and head. "You just need to find yourself."

"Help me," she requests shyly. I move closer to her body and tilt her head up towards mine so I can truly look into my eyes. Steph trusts me. I can see it and feel it.

Without thinking, I respond to her in the only way I know how to. My lips gently touch hers. She knows that I will help her. And even if I'm never fully successful, I'll die trying. I'm determined to do everything in my power to bring her back to me.

But for now, Stephanie McMahon's just somebody that I used to know.


	2. Letting Go

_"Lock the door!" _

_ "Afraid Daddy will find out you're skipping out on meetings again?" I ask tauntingly with the raise of an eyebrow, as I turn the lock on the doorknob. Stephanie shoots me a look of pure innocence and naivety while she props herself into a sitting position on her desk. _

_ "No, locking the door is solely for your protection," she replies with a wicked grin. My body tingles with anticipation as I slowly approach her, trying to bite back my smile._

_ "Oh, really?" _

_ "Uh-huh. After all you were the one who practically dragged me here against my will," Steph states accusingly. Her fingers climb up my chest before gripping onto the collar of my black t-shirt. My hands move to rest on the edge of the desk so my body is now hovering over hers. God, she's so breathtaking. _

_ "You seemed pretty willing," I hush softly, allowing my lips to brush against the soft skin of her neck. She moans helplessly, leaning into my touch. However, I'm slightly startled when I feel her long legs wrap around my waist, pulling me even closer. And I thought I was the one in control. Just when I think Steph's being submissive, she goes and pulls something like this. _

_ Stephanie stands up so our bodies are pressed against each other and my chin rests atop her head, letting her loose brown strands tickle my neck. Being close to her overwhelms me with a sense of comfort. Not just physically, but emotionally. I feel like my heart is literally touching hers. Our two hearts join together as one. _

_ "Dance with me," she whispers._

_ "There's no music."_

_ "We don't need any."_

_ "I don't dance," I object, but she's already wrapping her arms around my neck. _

_ "I'll teach you," Stephanie insists. I begin to part my lips in protest, but her index finger keeps them closed. "Please?" Her big blue eyes gaze up at me pleadingly. I can't say no. I place my hands just above her hips and look to her for further instruction. _

_ "I'll follow your lead, Ms. McMahon."_

_ "Certainly won't be the first time you do," she says with a wink._

_ "Shut up or find yourself a new dancing partner."_

I run my fingers through my long blonde strands as I apprehensively pace around the perimeter of my living room. My palms are unusually clammy as I wipe them against my denim jeans. I keep reminding myself that I shouldn't be nervous. After all, it's just Steph…

_Steph._ The girl who I would shyly watch from afar in the corridors of a crowded arena. _Steph._ The girl who I could share all my secrets with, in return for some advice. _Steph._ The girl who could upturn my lips into a smile on the crappiest of days. _Steph._ The girl who would whisper my name in her sleep and plead for me to hold her. _Steph._ The girl dressed in white who walked down the aisle to officially become mine.

So why am I nervous about her coming over? Because, quite frankly, I'm not exactly sure _who_ will show up at my doorstep in the next hour. Will it be the woman who danced with me in her office? Or the lost, changed woman who still refuses to look me in the eyes? I'm praying for the first, despite my gut feeling that it will most likely be the second.

But that's why she's coming. I made a promise to help her become the woman she once was. And I intend on keeping it, no matter how difficult it may be. I was actually quite surprised yesterday when Stephanie suggested we get together. At least I know she's sincere and really wants to go through with this. Although I'm not too sure what exactly "this" is. It's not like I can wave a magic wand and she'll just transform into her old self.

Maybe it will be like therapy or something. Lots of talking and sharing emotions. Asking questions. Getting answers. Telling stories. More emotions. Yep, definitely sounds like therapy. But I hope Steph understands that I am in no way a therapist and have no idea what the hell I'm doing. I don't know how the human brain works. I barely know how my own heart works! One minute I want to get as far away from Steph as possible, and the next I want to grab her face and kiss her.

There's a knock at the door. Of course she wouldn't ring the bell… Shit. She's early. Like _really _early. My shoes drag against the carpet as I find my way to the front of the house. I reluctantly open the door and take in the woman standing in front of me. Wow.

Her long brown hair hangs loosely over her shoulders, which are concealed by a black sweater. I'm relieved to see she's wearing jeans. A part of me was wondering whether she'd show up in a business suit. And this whole situation has nothing to do with business at all. The blue in her eyes suddenly seems much brighter to me. Happier. And she's smiling!

"Hi Paul." Stephanie said my name. _And_ she greeted me first. This has to mean something, right?

"Hey Stephanie." She's still smiling at me. But something about it seems so… forced. I immediately push that thought to the back of my head. I don't want to think about that. All that matters is that Steph is here with me now. "Come on inside."

"Thanks." She follows me to the living room, where I gesture for her to have a seat on the couch. I sit on the chair directly across from her. God, I really am acting like her psychologist or something. What's next? Will I start jotting down her thoughts with a pen and paper?

"Um, can I get you anything?" It's a lame attempt at starting a conversation, but it's really all I've got. There used to be a time where Steph and I could talk about almost anything for hours on end. Even the stupidest, littlest subjects.

"I'm good, but thank you," Steph says softly. Her eyes wander around the room. I notice she does this quite a lot. Finally, her stare meets mine. What am I supposed to say now? I never imagined this being so difficult. "Paul?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad we're doing this…ya know, hanging out."

"I am, too. It's been forever."

"And I'm sorry for that. It's just that I…" Her voice trails off sadly. Guilt washes over me. All these years I was pissed at her for being so ignorant to my feelings and the pain she's put me through. But now, I can see clearly why she acts that way. She's so… lost. How can she accept me into her life when she can't even accept herself?

"Shhh… I know. And don't worry about it, Steph," I assure her. She already has enough to worry about.

"I never deserved you." My eyes widen a bit.

"What?" I question in disbelief.

"And I still don't." Now she's just being irrational. Of course, she deserves me! Hell, if anyone doesn't deserve the other, it's me.

"Of course you deserve—"

"No, I honestly don't," Steph interrupts me. "I've treated you like shit for the longest time and yet here you are—trying to help me solve a problem with no solution!" The anger in her voice scares me. She's yelling. She's mad.

"Stop blaming yourself!" I snap loudly, but quickly realize this isn't the direction I want to go in. I can't fight with her.

"But it is my fault!" Stephanie screams, rising from the couch. Her blue eyes darken and she burns a hole through me with her stare. "I'm the one who—the one who…" She's on the verge of tears now. I want to pull her into my arms and tell her not to cry. I would whisper softly into her ear and let my lips press a kiss to her temple.

"The one who what?" I ask, almost afraid to hear the answer. The tears spill over her cheeks and swiftly fall down her pink cheeks.

"I-I have to g-go. I'm s-sorry," she finally says. I grab her forearm, preventing her from leaving.

"You can tell me," I whisper. In my mind, there's a voice telling me to let her go. It's not worth it. But my heart aches for her to stay with me. Any time with her is better than none at all.

"I know."

"I love you." I'm expecting her to jump back or wear some expression of shock, but she doesn't. Apparently, I'm the only one surprised by what just left my mouth.

"I know that, too," Stephanie admits, somewhat looking away from me. I grab her hands in mine.

"Sit down, Steph. Talk to me," I beg. "Please." She hesitantly sits back on the couch, except this time I'm right next to her. We need to discuss this face to face.

"Paul, when we first met, I was completely in love with you. And when you asked me to marry you, I was—I was ecstatic. You were my everything, my whole world. And then the kids came, and life couldn't be more perfect. We had accomplished it all: kids, success, marriage…"

I have absolutely no idea where Steph is going with this, aside from a few suspicions. But if she's trying to break my heart a little bit more, she's doing one hell of a job at it. I don't like how she kept using the word "was."

"And, one day, it went away. The love I felt for you. It was gone, as if it had vanished into thin air or something. It killed me Paul. You showered me with love and affection, while guilt ate me alive. Guilt that I didn't love you the way you loved me. And that's when the fighting started," Stephanie explained. I'm not sure how to feel. How can I be mad at her? You don't choose who you fall in love with, so you certainly don't choose who you fall _out_ of love with.

"But last week…" I begin softly. Now I can't look her in the eyes. She's holding my hand in attempt to comfort me, but her sympathy means nothing to me anymore. "I kissed you… and you—you kissed me back, Steph."

"I know. And I was wrong to do that, Paul. I shouldn't have toyed with your emotions." None of this makes sense to me. None of it. Why couldn't she have just cheated on me? Then at least I'd have a reason to be angry with her! But she didn't. Therefore, I don't.

"No. I was wrong. Wrong to kiss you. Wrong to think that maybe I still had a second chance at love with you," I spit out bitterly. I violently pull away from our joined hands.

"Please know that it's nothing you did," she says. I'm staring at my own lap. I can tell she's crying when I hear her sniffling. What the hell is she crying for? I'm the one who ended up with the short end of the stick in all of this.

"Stop crying." My tone is abrupt and rude. Stephanie shoots me an apologetic look as she wipes at her bloodshot eyes. So much for hanging out with her.

"Goodbye, Paul." I feel her long arms wrap around me shoulders, squeezing me into a tight hug. Leaning her head into my neck. Her fingers lightly stroking my upper back. It takes every ounce of resistance in my body to fight the urge to hug her back. At least the wondering is over now. No longer will I think about possibly getting her back. How she feels about me now is pretty damn clear. Stephanie pulls away from the one-sided hug. I quietly sigh before meeting her gaze.

"I guess it's time to let you go now."

Steph nods slowly, as we head for the door. But we both know I wasn't talking about letting her go from my house.

I'm letting Stephanie go from my heart.

* * *

Okay I have no idea where I'm going with this... or if I should even continue... Well actually I do know what I would do in a possible next chapter but let me know if you want to see more of this story! Reviews pretty please? :-)


	3. The Truth

_ Somebody asked me if I knew you. A million memories flashed through my mind but I just smiled and said I used to._

One Year Later

I twiddle my thumbs out of complete boredom as I stare at the flashing television screen before my eyes. Not that I'm even paying attention. It seems my mind and body are always in two different places nowadays. My eyes settle on the closed laptop sitting on the coffee table, which my feet are propped up on. I'm almost tempted to throw myself back into work, but my eyes are already strained. My body craves sleep, despite the fact that it's only a little after noon. I always feel like I'm waiting. Waiting for something intriguing to happen. Waiting for someone special to come along. Waiting for anything, really. This is the way my life is now.

Until the weekend rolls around, of course. Then my kids come over and everything seems almost normal again. Their laughter echoes in the house and I awaken to their smiling faces.

The previous custody arrangement called for them to spend every other weekend with me, but per Stephanie's request, they now visit every weekend. Six months ago, she had surprised me with the phone call and informed me about the idea. Although I was a bit skeptical as to why she would all of a sudden agree to less time with them, I gladly accepted the offer anyways. Aurora, Murphy, and Vaughn were all for the new agreement as well, because it meant spending more time with their daddy.

When they're not here, though, I feel empty. Lost. Broken. Like there's really no reason for me to be living or breathing at all.

Painful memories start to overtake my mind, but are fortunately interrupted at the sound of knocking. My eyes instantly glance to the door. Dropping the remote, I rise from the sofa and approach the front entrance. The plush carpet sinks beneath my footsteps as I walk the short distance. Visitors to my house come far and few, so I'm curious to see who it is.

As I push the door open, my heartbeat quickens at the sight of her. Before I can fully view her to convince myself this isn't all an illusion, she already has her arms wrapped tightly around my neck. I breathe in the familiar scent of her light perfume, feeling overwhelmed by her presence altogether.

"Steph…" I hush in amazement. She's really here, right before my own eyes. But that itself raises another question. What is she doing here? The last time she was at my house, Stephanie revealed that she had fallen out of love with me, which led me to believe I should do the same. So I tried. I tried to let her go and move on. Burning photographs was just one of my many attempts to forget her. I'd even contemplated tossing my wedding ring in the fire along with them. However, I didn't have the heart to do so in the end. Overlooking that we'd ever been together was nearly impossible, especially with our kids as a constant reminder of the love we'd once shared.

As we pull apart from the embrace, I find myself lost in her eyes. They're still heavenly, aside from the sadness that lingers deep inside of them.

"Can I come inside?" Stephanie asks shyly. Vaguely surprised by her question, I nod my head and step aside, allowing her to enter. Before I can offer her anything or ask if she wants to join me in the living room, Steph sits down on the bottom step of the staircase. She pats the available space next to her, and flashes me a small smile. For a moment, I stand there like a dazed idiot, until I realize she's gesturing for me to sit beside her. So I do as she wants.

"You know, when I heard the knock at the door, you were the last person I expected to be on the other side of it," I admit, breaking the uneasy silence between us. For some reason, all my hope that diminished over the past year comes rushing back. Maybe Stephanie has changed her mind about how she feels. Or maybe she'll end up just wanting to discuss business—the only thing we ever hold a conversation about anymore. Hopefully it's the first of the two possibilities.

"I can understand that," Stephanie replies, lifting one of her shoulders in a slight shrug. Unlike her last visit, she seems more confident, more amiable. "I mean, what guy plans on his ex-wife showing up at his doorstep?"

"You have a point there." A grin forms across her face as she tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Should I ask her what brings her here or wait for her to broach the subject herself? My question is quickly answered though, almost as if she'd read my mind. Steph's always had a knack for doing that.

"Look, I wanted to talk to you about everything that's gone down between us," Stephanie begins reluctantly. "If—if that's alright with you."

Quite honestly, I'm not sure if I'm prepared to hear what she has to say concerning our status anymore. Haven't I suffered enough heartbreak for one lifetime? But she's looking at me with those pleading blue eyes and just like old times, I can't resist.

"Of course, Steph."

"Okay," she whispers, nodding nervously. Taking in a deep breath, Stephanie turns to stare directly into my eyes. Whatever she's about to say surely isn't coming out easy for her. Her lips part as if she's about to speak, but no words leave her mouth. I reassuringly grab her hand and see her eyes shut for a brief moment. Upon their opening, I can make out the tears welling up in them. "I can't do this," she chokes out. I allow my thumb to graze over her knuckles while I tilt her chin up with my other hand. Her blue orbs are glossy and her eyelashes are damp/

"Yes you can," I whisper. "You can tell me anything, Stephanie. You know that, right?"

"I know. And that's why I'm telling you I can't do this anymore." I crinkle my brow in confusion at her admission. Her tone is so gentle, so sincere, despite the fact that her voice keeps cracking.

"Do what?"

Stephanie stares at me, lost for words. I remain completely frozen as she brings her hand up to cup my cheek. Her slender fingers are abnormally cold against my skin. Slowly, she moves her face toward mine until our noses almost touch. Being so close to Steph is driving me insane. My body craves her in every fathomable way.

So that's why I don't pull away when her lips meet mine. Instinct overrides reason and I allow my fingers to gently thread through her hair. She moans against my mouth as my tongue glides over her bottom lip.

When we kiss, nothing means anything anymore. The divorce means nothing. Previous things that she has told me mean nothing. For a few short moments, we're just Paul and Steph again. But it's over all too quickly. As we pull apart, Stephanie opens her mouth to answer my previous question.

"I can't pretend this isn't real," she whispers, her fingers trailing down the side of my face.

"What?" It's the only thing I can manage to breathe out, because everything she says only sends me into a world of speculation.

"I haven't been completely honest with you, Paul," Stephanie admits. "About anything."

"Well maybe you can fix that by telling me the truth now." She nods in agreement. Her fingers tap absently against her jean clad thighs while she chews at her bottom lip.

"A year ago, I told you that I woke up one day and wasn't in love with you anymore—that it just went away."

"I remember."

"That's lie number one," Stephanie whispers, letting her long hair fall in front of her face, unable to look at me. And I'm not entirely sure what to think either. So she didn't fall out of love with me? But none of this makes any sense. Why would she just randomly decide to throw our marriage out the window? I know my former wife all too well, and I know for sure that there's a reason behind everything she does.

"What's lie number two?" Steph lifts her head at the sound of my voice and the tears have already begun to stream down her face.

"That the fighting started because of my guilt… It started because I needed you to leave me, Paul. I couldn't let you be around me anymore. I couldn't do that to _you. _All of this," she paused, "was for your own protection." Protection? Protection from what?

"Stephanie, you're… you're not making any sense." I can't seem to catch my breath. This is all too much. She continues to stare at her own hands resting in her lap. Once again, I find myself waiting. Waiting to learn the truth. Finally, Steph looks up at me with an unreadable expression.

"I'm sick, Paul."

"Sick? Like what do you mean…sick?" I fumble with the words, purposely not allowing myself to realize what she's trying to tell me.

"Leukemia," she responds quietly. I swear my heart stops at that very moment. I wonder if I even heard her correctly, or possibly mixed it up with some other word. But there's really no other word even remotely close to sounding like it.

"You're not sick," I assure her. "You can't be, Steph."

"I denied it too, at first. I made the doctors redo the tests. I made them send the results to different labs. I just…couldn't believe it." Tears burn in my eyes as I listen to her recall the frightening experience. "I mean you hear about these things happening to people all the time, but never even imagine that you'd be the next…victim."

"When did this…happen?"

"Four years ago." That was one year before we got divorced. She didn't tell me. Never mentioned it. Not once. Surely that's something you would tell your own husband, right? I understand not informing a spouse of minor details, but a terminal illness is not something to keep to yourself.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I snap, moving closer to her face. Nausea brews in the pit of my stomach and my face feels hot with rage. All those years Stephanie was sick with this, this cancer. I should have noticed. How could I have not? I should have seen it in the way she'd been losing substantial amounts of weight, or the way her skin would appear to be an odd grayish color on some evenings. But I didn't. Looking at her now though, I still can't believe it.

"Because it was bad at the time, Paul!" she cries. "And I knew that if I told you, then you would worry. And you didn't need that and neither did our kids. The doctors—they told me I didn't have long. A year and a half at most. And, and…" Stephanie's fading voice is replaced by a fit of sobs. Suddenly, I feel guilty for shouting at her. I need to contain my anger and be as comforting as possible. I can't even imagine how hard this must be for her. All I know is how the news is hitting me. It's amazing how one revelation can change your life forever.

"Hey, you're okay," I whisper, pulling her into my body. My hand brushes away the wetness below her quivering eyes.

"I couldn't do that to you. So I came up with a plan. I figured that if I could get you to fall out of love with me, it wouldn't be as devastating for you when my time ran out." The plan sounded both reasonable and ridiculous. I can understand where Steph was coming from about not wanting to hurt me. But did she honestly think she could force me to fall out of love with her? Still, I continue to cradle her in my arms while she speaks slowly. "After the divorce was finalized, it started to get better—the leukemia." I lightly cringe at the sound of the word. Just hearing it sends a shiver down my spine. I want to tell her not to say it in front of me, but it's obvious she doesn't want to be in denial about any of this.

"Stephanie, you should have told me. Sure I would have been distraught, but it's better than being naïve about the entire situation. Did you tell anyone?"

She shook her head back and forth. "Only the doctors know." I let out a sigh. Not even her own parents could support her through all of this.

"Did you really think you could just get me to 'fall out of love with you?' I'm not even sure it works that way…"

"I wanted you to move on with your life!" Stephanie says, the volume in her tone increasing rapidly. "I didn't want you to be that husband who spent hours at the hospital with me while my life slowly slipped away! I just…needed to do this on my own." I snake my arm around her waist and pull her body close to me.

"How is it now?"

"Stable." So basically, it's not getting any better, even though it isn't getting any worse. "It goes up and down."

"It _will_ get better," I state confidently.

"I appreciate you having faith in me, Paul. But you know nothing about cancer or how it spreads or..."

"But I know _you_."

Even Stephanie can't stop the smile that forms on her face at my comment. Because I do know her. Probably better than anyone on the whole planet. And I know that she's strong. She's a fighter. She doesn't let anyone or anything push her around. She finds her way out of sticky situations and doesn't take no for an answer.

"And do you love me?" Stephanie whispers, the tears forming back in her eyes.

"Always."

"Even though I lied to you? Even though I'm sick? Even though I could die any day?"

"Sweetheart, I mean it when I say always." I really do. I want to be there for her. To make up for all the lost years. I'll go to every appointment with her. I'll spoil her with love when she's having a bad day. I'll be by her side until the end.

And then Stephanie says those words I've been dying to hear for the longest time now—the words that make my heart warm and my eyes watery.

"I love you, too. Always."

_Somebody asked me if I knew you. A million memories flashed through my mind but I just smiled and said I still do._


	4. Worth It

"Daddy, I finished packing!" Aurora announces proudly, towing a small suitcase in hand behind her as she crosses the tile floor to where I'm sitting. I send my eleven-year-old an amused smile at her accomplishment.

"Good. Are you excited to spend the week with Grandma?" I ask, trying my best to make this sound like a fun, positive experience. Well, to their knowledge, it will be. While in reality, sending them off to New Hampshire to stay with my parents is only so they won't be around while Stephanie undergoes more treatment. I'm new to all this myself and not exactly sure what Steph's condition be like afterwards.

"Uh-huh," Aurora responds, while she fiddles with the handle of the suitcase. After a few unsuccessful attempts, she's finally able to push it down completely.

"Are Murph and Vaughn still upstairs?"

"I think so. Murphy packed way too much stuff, so Mom had to help her re-pack everything." Aurora's whole face lights up in amusement as she recalls the event. She really is like a mini version of Stephanie at times like these. From the way she carries herself to her infamous facial expressions.

Both of our heads turn towards the entryway to the kitchen as the sound of running footsteps down the staircase echo throughout the house. Not too long after, my younger daughters appear—each hauling backpacks and blankets over their shoulders.

"Is Grandma here yet?" Vaughn asks excitedly, as she lets her belongings drop to the ground and makes her way over to the kitchen table where I'm seated.

"No, but I'm sure she'll arrive any moment now, kiddo."

Both Murphy and Vaughn shoot me unhappy pouts at my answer. I chuckle to myself at their lack of patience—something they've inherited from both Steph and myself. It's amazing to watch that as they grow and change, they begin to resemble us in more ways when it comes down to personality. Each day, I find myself picking out more traits that mirror Stephanie.

My heart flutters in my chest as I notice her emerge into the kitchen. God, she's so breathtakingly striking, no matter what. But despite her evident beauty, the pale complexion of her skin and weakened movements are clear indicators that she's not well. Anyone would easily be able to tell that.

I've known about her illness for about a month now, and since then, have moved back into our old house—strictly to help her cope with it. Things are nowhere near how they once were between us, however. Our relationship consists of little to no romance. But that's not what is important right now. Stephanie is sick, and her health is my top priority at this point. It's a bit frustrating at times, but I guess you just learn to adjust to the new lifestyle after a bit. At least I can sleep through the nights not having to wonder whether or not she still loves me. Now I know for sure that she does.

We came to the conclusion that it would be best if we informed her parents of it, too. Stephanie was reluctant, but I insisted to stay by her side the entire time. It was difficult but necessary. Watching Vince and Linda break down only made me want to join them in doing so. That's their baby girl. They brought her into this world. The thought of one of my daughters having their life cut off short is just heartbreaking. You're not supposed to outlive your own kids.

As of now, the only people who are even aware of the situation are her parents, my parents, Shane, Marissa, and Lynn. Our own kids know that she's sick, but we decided to restrain on telling them the severity of the illness. Keeping it from them entirely just felt wrong, but giving limited details seemed like the most reasonable option. We couldn't just feed them excuses and lies to protect them. Stephanie had tried and failed with that once already. Plus, our intelligent daughters were able to recognize the deterioration of their mother's health as the days passed.

The sound of the doorbell ringing breaks me away from my thoughts. I notice Stephanie start to head for the door, but quickly stop her from doing so.

"I got it, Steph," I assure her. She sends me a grateful smile and takes a seat at the table.

My mother greets me with a hug as I open the door. The girls anxiously squirm to get past me in order to also retrieve embraces from their grandmother.

"My, you girls get bigger every time I see you! Why don't you help your dear old dad put your stuff in the car?" Mom suggests with a smile. The three of them sprint to the kitchen to grab their belongings. I know my mother's true intentions for sending them off. "How is she, Paul?" I sigh and run my fingers through the hair on top of my head.

"Not well, as of now. But we'll just have to wait and see how the treatment goes this week." Mom places her hand on my cheek sympathetically.

"You're very strong, you know. She needs you, sweetheart." I nod my head before a silence washes over us as Aurora, Murphy, and Vaughn come running through, dragging all of their bags out the front door. Their cheery laughter brings a little bit of joy to my otherwise gloomy heart.

"Hi Stephanie!" My mother's voice causes me to jolt my head around to meet eyes with Steph, who slowly makes her way over to us.

"Hi Patricia. Thanks for watching the girls," she says softly, pulling her in for a quick hug.

"Oh, dear! You know it's always my pleasure."

As they pull apart, Stephanie leans into my side for balance. My arm wraps around her waist instinctively. We say our goodbyes to the kids and my mother; then it's just me and Steph left alone in the empty house. Her eyes are glossing over with unshed tears. She hates saying goodbye to them because she never knows if it may be the last thing she ever says to them. I extend my arms and Stephanie gladly melts into them. For years, I tried so damn hard to let this woman go. Now I find myself struggling to hold on to every last bit of her…

* * *

Everything in the room is completely still, other than Stephanie's occasional nervous movement. I notice that she keeps intertwining her own fingers and cracking her knuckles. Aside from that, she seems surprisingly calm sitting up in the hospital bed, as we await the doctor's arrival. That's more than I can say for myself. Terrified would be an understatement to describe my emotions.

"Paul," Stephanie says, grabbing hold of my hand. I shift in the chair at her bedside, but can't seem to stop my foot from tapping swiftly against the tile floor. "Please don't be nervous about this." My eyes close in attempt to calm my anxiousness. I need to be strong for Steph. This is exactly what she didn't want me to do. I don't want her to feel regret about deciding to tell me about all this.

"Okay, I'm sorry. It's just this is all so…" My voice trails off as I search for the appropriate word.

"New? Scary? Overwhelming?"

"A combination of all three," I admit quietly. She brushes away a few strands of hair from my face, so I'm forced to look at her. Her tired eyes are full of concern. There's a faint knock at the door, before it swings open. A middle-aged, blonde woman emerges and closes the door behind her.

"Hi, Stephanie. How are you today?" the woman asks as she approaches us. She glances over in my direction and offers a courteous smile as she listens to Steph's answer.

"I'm doing well," she says, before turning to me. "Paul, this is Dr. Carmichael. Doc, this is Paul." We shake hands over the bed, and Dr. Carmichael parts her lips to speak.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Paul. Stephanie told me over the phone that you're very new to this, huh?" she asks warmly. I breathe a sigh of relief that the doctor isn't some pompous, "by the book" medical snob. She resembles someone more motherly and genuine.

"_Very _new," I emphasize with a nod.

"That's perfectly fine. I was thinking that before we begin the actual treatment, perhaps I could explain how exactly Stephanie's chemo courses work. Is that alright, Stephanie?"

"Sounds good." She grips my hand a little tighter as the Dr. Carmichael begins to explain.

"Basically, when we want to begin a course of chemotherapy, we draw up a basic outline depending on the patient's current health status. The individual sessions can be every one to four weeks, based on how long the particular dosage lasts for. Then there can be anywhere from four to six sessions," the doctor explains. She pauses for a moment, so I send her a brief nod to let her know I'm following along. "This particular course will have Stephanie receive treatment every two weeks for five sessions. Does that make sense?"

"Yes. Thank you, Doc."

"Good. I'll be back in a few minutes with the IV. Feel free to ask me any more questions at that time." Stephanie and I both thank her again before she disappears through the doorway. Once she's gone, Steph looks up at me quizzically, waiting for some initial reaction.

"How long does—does this go on for?" I manage to ask, still trying to absorb all the knowledge I've gained.

"Until the cancer cells are completely gone."

"And how can you tell when they are?"

"Through blood and bone marrow tests."

"Oh," is all I can say. Well what else am I supposed to say? It doesn't feel right to bombard her with a thousand questions. And if I say too much, she'll likely recognize the hopelessness in my voice. Two months ago, I never would have pictured myself in this position. I figured I would still be sulking about how Steph had supposedly lost her feelings for me.

"Okay. As usual, we'll be doing this intravenously." The doctor's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I didn't even hear her re-enter the room. I watch closely as she connects the tube to the middle area of Stephanie's arm. To my amazement, Stephanie doesn't flinch one bit as the needle breaks through her skin. I remember the days where she would look away nervously and pray for it to be over. Well, I guess she's had a lot of experience with needles and injections over the past few years.

Dr. Carmichael once again leaves us alone. She'll be back soon to check on how the treatment is going, but there's not much left to do at this point except wait.

"You're awfully quiet," Stephanie notes.

"I didn't know if you like it to be silent during this part," I answer with a shrug.

"It doesn't matter to me. I do like when you talk to me, though." The corners of my mouth uplift in a warm smile at her admittance.

"Me too. What do you want to talk about?"

"Well, if you don't mind, I'd rather not discuss anything medical-related." I nod appreciatively at that statement. I think I've learned enough about this for one day. It's already got my stomach in nervous knots. Plus, from what I've been told, our time is limited before the side effects of the chemo start to kick in. And I don't think Steph will want to do much talking when that part draws near. "Let's talk about us."

"What about us?"

"I'm tired of holding back, Paul. We shouldn't let this disease keep us from being who we are around each other. Our love is stronger than that. Or at least I hope so."

"Definitely," I agree. "I mean, I know there are going to be times where you'll just want to be completely alone. And I'll respect your wishes. But I just want things to be like they were."

"As much as we both want for that to be the case, it never will be," Stephanie says solemnly. And of course, I completely understand that too. How could things ever be the same? After all the secrets and lies, heartbreak, divorce, and now a terminal illness, it's nearly impossible to put the pieces fully back together.

"I know, Steph. I want to fix this as much as we can, and make the most of what we have," I say softly. My lips fall to her temple and place a gentle kiss there. "No matter what, we're a team. We're in this together until the end."

"After this course of chemo is over, I have a favor to ask," Stephanie whispers. Her hand cups my cheek and her eyes are overflowing with love. I see that sparkle in them that I often search for. The sparkle that kept my hope alive all through all those lonely years.

"Anything," I hush, leaning closer to her face.

"Marry me again," Stephanie says. "October 25th."

Words can't even express the happiness her request brings me. Quite frankly, I'm lost for any and all words. I pull her in for a passionate kiss. Her skin is cold, but it makes me feel warm. Her lips are dry, but they're soft against mine.

The special moment is short-live though, as she unexpectedly yanks her head back. Stephanie leans over the opposite side of the bed from me and grabs the trash bin. All I can do is pull her hair away from her face and rub the small of her back while she vomits profusely.

I can only persistently pray that all her pain and suffering will be worth it in the end—that she wins this battle. Because Stephanie McMahon is worth it to me.


	5. Just Married Again

"Kiss me again."

Her voice is barely a whisper – not the hoarse whisper that usually comes along with her illness, but an intended whisper. Her breath is warm against my chilled skin. Willingly, I comply with her hushed request and position myself so I'm hovering over her fragile body. Her arms instinctively wrap around my neck as I lower my head to meet her lips with mine.

The grassy meadow beneath our bodies is damp. Its green color is bold against our bright white attire. The October breeze seems to be picking up, but still, it is gentle. This place is the epitome of tranquility. And this moment with Steph couldn't be any more magnificent. We pull apart slowly but tenderly. Her fingers trace circles on my upper back as she tilts her head back to look up at me with that intoxicating blue-eyed stare of hers.

"Again," she whispers. I lean down once more. This kiss is shorter and softer, but just as perfect as the last. I'm not quite sure any of our kisses could be less than perfect from this point on. Just the feel of her lips against me pleasures me in ways unimaginable. "Mmm… I could get married to you over and over again…every day for the rest of my life."

I try to ignore the cruel truth that the days left in her life could very well be limited. And even though I've managed to spend every waking moment living life with Steph to the fullest, nothing could prepare me for her imminent fate. But I choose not to dwell on the negatives; it's our wedding day after all.

"And let me guess. We would ditch all of those weddings, too?" I chuckle as she lightly slaps my forearm with the backside of her hand.

"Paul Michael Levesque. We did _not_ ditch our wedding."

A sly smile appears on my lips. "Oh, right. We only ditched the wedding _reception_. It's completely different." Steph rolls her eyes at the obvious sarcasm in my voice, but chuckles nonetheless. Her laugh is one thing I'll never forget about her.

I nonchalantly brush my knuckles down her jaw line, just breathing her in. She smells of lilies and daises – probably because that's what her bouquet consisted of. Her eyelids flutter closed. She's not in pain; she's at peace with herself. That fact alone brings joy to my heart. I allow my upturned lips to find her earlobe and tug at it gently.

"You're so beautiful."

Instantly, Stephanie opens her eyes. She doesn't playfully smack me, or tell me to stop plying her with compliments. Rather the opposite happens actually. Her thin, dark eyebrows raise and she parts her lips to speak.

"I am?"

"You are," I whisper, nodding my head. "You're the most beautiful thing in the entire world." She lifts her slender fingers to caress my stubbly cheek. Her eyes are glossing over with tears. With her other hand, she touches the top of her head – the part under her veil.

"I…I don't have any hair, Paul." She's both laughing and crying as she says it.

"I stand by my previous statement. Always have, always will."

If only Stephanie could see herself through my eyes and know that every word I say is out of sincerity. If only she could know the way my heart swells with love whenever she talks. Or how grateful I feel when I see her interacting with our daughters. And all those days spent in the hospital, sitting hopeful by her bedside, have taught me more than I could ever ask for about strength and sacrifice. Stephanie is a fighter. This disease has not been a test of weakness, but a test of strength.

"Even when I'm gone?" The tears rolling down her cheeks make me want to shed some of my own. But for Steph, I'm strong. I wipe them away with the pad of my thumb before replacing it with my lips.

"You're not going anywhere." She refuses to look me in the eyes at this point. Whether it's because she just can't gain control of her emotions or because she doesn't believe me, I'm not too sure. I drop my body a little lower, so that ours are pressed together lightly. "Talk to me, baby."

Stephanie glances at me momentarily before squirming underneath me. She wants space. Respectful to her wishes, I roll over so that I'm now lying on my back in the meadow, with Steph's chest against mine. She runs her tongue along her bottom lip. That means she's contemplating over how to put her thoughts into words.

"I'm fucking terrified."

I rub my hand up and down her back soothingly and sigh. "Don't be."

"Don't be! I'm the one dying here, Paul. Not you." Her tone is now abrupt and snippy. All I wanted to do was help to suppress her worries, but now it's backfired.

"You're not…"

"Stop saying that I'm not dying!" she shouts, her voice cracking towards the end. Stephanie regains her composure before continuing on. I just lie still in utter silence. "We both know I am. The only difference is I'm the one not in denial here."

"Denial?" I snort in repulsion. "You think I don't know what's happening to you? You think I'm oblivious to what's going on here?" I pause. "I sit by your bedside every single day – despite all my fear and pain – to remain positive for _you_. Because none of my shit matters, Steph! You're right. I'm not the one dying. And for that very reason, I push aside _my_ fear and _my_ pain." The expression on her face is unreadable. I cannot tell whether she's mad or upset. However, when I feel her fingers slip through mine, I take that as a cue to continue pouring out my heart. If I don't get all of this off my chest now, the chance may never present itself again. "Sometimes I feel like…like I'm not allowed to be scared…like only you get to feel that way. Because you're the one…you know. But the truth is, Steph, I'm scared, too. I don't want to lose you, baby. I can't live my life without you."

Her body quivers. She's suddenly abnormally cold. Or maybe it's just me. I don't know. I feel her reach down for something. When her hand returns into view, I notice she's holding the wedding ring I slid onto her finger just an hour prior. She's taken it off.

"Here," Stephanie says, putting it into the palm of my hand, forcing my fingers to enclose around it. "This is my heart. I want you to have it."

So much for staying strong. I feel my own tears start to trickle down my face, as I slide the ring off of my finger. I place it into Steph's cupped palm similar to the way she did to me. "You know wha…" My voice cracks uneasily. I pause to clear my dry throat. I swear my heart has floated upwards and is thumping in there now. "You know what to do with this," I finally muster enough strength to say.

A smile creeps onto her lips. She places a hand on my cheek and nods. She's happy.

"We'll always be together….maybe not physically, but I'm always gonna be with you, Paul."

"I know, sweetheart. I know."

The next few moments are silent. Dead silent. But our love which is so full of life acts as a neutralizer to the numbness. I try to remind myself that she's here with me now. That's all that really matters. We've made it this far and I'll be damned if I spend my time left with her as a sulking disaster.

"Let's be young and in love," I propose suddenly. A devilish grin adorns her beautiful features.

"Come again?"

"Let's be kids, Steph. Kids without a care in the world. We're in the middle of the forest." I pause and raise my eyebrows in a seductive manner. "And we're _all alone_."

"We _are_ all alone," she agrees, moving her eyes around as if she's considering the idea. She bites down on her bottom lip and smirks. "And I _do_ already have you pinned to the ground."

"That you do, my darling."

Before I know it, our mouths are fused together. I swear they're like magnets. No matter where they are, they're somehow pulled together by gravitational force. Her fingers move to undo the buttons of my crisp, white shirt. Once completing the task, she pulls away from the kiss and manages to rise to her feet. We're already barefoot; we discarded our shoes at the entryway to the forest.

"Fancy helping the bride out of her gown, Levesque?"

My laughter echoes in the wind as I grab her hand and pull myself up. I kiss her knuckles before twirling her underneath my raised arm until her back is facing me.

"It would be the groom's honor, McMahon."

I slide the zipper down her back. With my hands I slip the sleeves off of her shoulders, guiding the white material down her body. It pools around her ankles. I aid her in stepping out of it and pull her body into mine. The skin contact is driving me crazy. And regardless of everything we've been through all of these years, one thing always remains untouchable.

I'll always need Stephanie – both emotionally and physically.

* * *

Their love that one October evening should have been the kind depicted in a painting – two bodies in nothing but the low light of dusk joined together as one. All earlier feelings of anguish and apprehension were forgotten; they were replaced with a different one. A more rewarding one.

And they'd expressed that one emotion to each other late into the night. Quite frankly, they didn't care about the fact that anyone could have followed them into the woodsy meadow. Or the fact that both of their families were at a reception hall just a mere few miles to the north. They were lost in each other, putting all of their being into that one cherished moment.

Because that's what life is all about. The moments.

The good ones, the bad ones; the important ones, the insignificant ones. And when the number of moments you have left is put in jeopardy, you tend to make the most of each one. Things like bickering and secrecy become inessential. And things like love and happiness become what the world revolves around…

Paul gazed up at the stars thoughtfully once nighttime arrived. The view from here was beautiful, but not nearly as beautiful as his sleeping bride who was cuddled into his chest. Wearing nothing but his white shirt – which appropriately fit her like a dress – she reminded him of an angel. All that was missing were wings and a halo, but in time, maybe she would have those things.

"Sweet dreams, beautiful," Paul whispered, lifting her into his arms. He was careful not to disturb her slumber. She looked awfully peaceful and he'd feel horrible for accidentally waking her.

His eyes amusingly fell to the torn, wrinkled wedding dress still sitting in the meadow. He silently hoped to himself that Stephanie didn't have intentions of keeping the dress. But knowing her, she wouldn't mind one bit. Besides, the most important thing to her was clutched tightly in her hand, glistening in the moonlight. With that ring, Stephanie held Paul's heart.

And inside the pocket of Paul's white trousers, he had Steph's heart. The odds didn't seem to be in their favor at this point, but they could still hope and pray for the best.

No matter what the final fate turned out to be, they would still be the keeper of the other's heart.


	6. What I'm Fighting For

Okay, so I was bawling involuntarily while writing this chapter. I don't know whether it's because I'm abnormally emotional this late at night, or because I've been listening to my playlist of sad songs on repeat. LOL. Specifically Cancer by MCR and several Good Charlotte songs. Le sigh. Nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy this chapter and have more self composure than I do!

P.S. I totally lied a few months ago about this being the epilogue - more to come! Hopefully sooner than later. Reviews determine this fic's fate. Let's not kill Stephanie! LOL.

* * *

Once upon a time I swore I would die trying if that was what it took to restore our relationship. I meant it. Every word of it. I would have walked to the end of the earth and back to eliminate the cold barrier that formed between us. I just wanted my wife back. The longing to hold her in my arms and kiss her soft lips was becoming unbearable. I loved her so much. She loved me. Even after the divorce, I knew she did. Her distressed blue orbs spoke louder than her hushed words of denial. But still, there was something preventing us from being together. Something that I was kept in the dark about for the longest time.

Cancer.

It's a word that changes everything. Finding out that this lethal disease lives inside of you and consumes your living cells is almost unreal. At first, you don't believe it. The fact of the matter is that your body is now a ticking time bomb. It can go off at any given moment, even when you least expect it. The worst part is that nobody is safe. No amount of money or healthy habits can ward it off. The selection of individuals is random and most times, unjust. We as humans typically associate cancer with behaviors such as smoking, drugs, or exposure to radiation. In our heads, we think old people and young kids. We're so incredibly ignorant to the truth that it could hit anybody. It could be your best friend, your brother, your sister, your son, your daughter, your husband…your wife. Anybody.

Only then – when it attacks the person you care about most – does the blindness cease to exist. Most of us live in this so-called perfect universe. Nothing can touch us. We outwardly pity the unfortunate ones, but inwardly disregard the cruel reality that we could be next.

"Dad!"

My ten-year-old daughter's high-pitched shriek disengages me from my thoughts. I flinch rather uncomfortably on the couch and draw my gaze away from the bright laptop screen. I meet eyes with her only to find a stare filled with shock and horror. Briskly, I shut the computer and rise to my feet. She appears to be on the verge of tears.

"What is it, Murph?" I ask frantically. "What's wrong?"

"Daddy…Daddy…" she whimpers in between sniffles.

I can't help but fear the reason behind her distraught mannerisms. Ever since we told them about Stephanie having cancer, they fall victim to sudden breakdowns and look to me with eyes that plead for an explanation. Regardless of growing up, they still don't understand why this happened to _their_ mom. They can't grasp the fact that each visit they pay her could be their last. None of these questions I can provide answers for, considering I'm still searching for them myself. Bending down slightly, I stroke her cheek with the back of my hand. The dampness is hot against my skin.

"Talk to me, sweetheart," I insist soothingly.

With her wrist, she wipes at her nose and sniffles once more, struggling to regain enough composure so she can speak.

"Daddy…it's…it's…Aurora."

"What? What…is she okay?"

My heartbeat quickens as I prepare to bolt out of here and up the stairs. I desperately need to check on my eldest daughter. The thought of something being wrong with her scares the living shit out of me. We've been meaning to ask the doctors if Stephanie's disease could somehow be passed down to our children in the future. God, I can't imagine having to go through all of this with one of them. They're innocent, little girls with long lives ahead of them. Nobody should have to withstand this misery. The only thing keeping me here in the living room is my need to hear what Murphy has to say. Then again, whatever it is that has her all worked up may end up being something unbearable to hear.

"She – don't be mad, Daddy," she says quietly.

"Huh? Why would I be…" My voice trails off in bewilderment. Murphy's hazel eyes are somber and her bottom lip is jutted out. I place one hand on each of her shoulders, eyeing her sternly. "Murphy. Tell me what's going on."

There's a short, uneasy silence.

"Aurora did something that – just come see for yourself!"

Exhaling nervously, I allow her to lead me up the stairs. She tugs me along quickly, her fingers tightly intertwined with mine. Her palms are clammy. Her messy blonde ponytail bounces with rhythm behind her head until we reach the second level of the dwelling.

The nightlight on the wall faintly illuminates the otherwise pitch black hallway. I suppress all of my speculations while we walk forward. As we approach the partially ajar bedroom door, I notice that the bathroom light has been left on and the end of a black cord is visible on the beige carpet. My heart is literally in my throat at this point. Murphy slows down and steps aside reluctantly.

I push Aurora's bedroom door open in one swift movement to see her lying on her stomach, casually propped up on her elbows. She looks up at me with Stephanie's undyingly beautiful blue eyes.

"Hey Dad."

I'm paralyzed where I stand. Frozen in my tracks.

"Holy shit," I mutter as I struggle to absorb the unsettling sight before me.

Aurora, on the other hand, stands up indifferently. With an open palm, she strokes her head. Not her hair…but her _head_.

"Do you like it?" she asks in a tone that's unusually cheerful. For a few moments, I'm speechless.

"Aurora Rose, what in the hell did you do?"

"What does it look like I did, Dad?" she retorts, shrugging. "I shaved my head. Now I really do look just like Mom."

I…urgently need to sit down. Something about all of this is extraordinarily disturbing. I feel sick to my stomach. A bead of sweat rolls down my face. Or is that a tear? I can't even tell. All I know is that my face is hot. I pad across the floor to sit myself down on the bed.

"What's wrong, Dad?" Aurora asks, tilting her head to one side. "You look like you're gonna be sick."

Sick. The word echoes in my head eerily. My twelve-year-old daughter looks…sick. One walking on the street would not be able to differentiate her from any other child cancer patient. It's…too much for my heart to take. She's my baby girl. This isn't right.

Across the room, I see Murphy and Vaughn lingering in the doorway. They're both wearing expressions of terror, much like I probably am.

"I don't know what to say," I murmur at a loss for words. She steps forward, closing the gap between us. She caresses my cheek with her warm fingertips. Blood pulses through this little girl's body. Her heartbeat is strong. Her complexion is rosy. She's healthy, I tell myself. But so was Stephanie…or at least, I had thought she was.

"Can we go see Mom tonight?"

"You…" I pause, unable to state the truth for what it is. I've always had trouble with saying things out loud. "You shaved your head, Aurora."

"Well, yeah. I look just like her now, don't I?"

I lean forward and kiss her cheek. "You've always looked like your mother…regardless of your…hair." I look past her to my other daughters. "All three of you look just like her."

Vaughn steps forward.

"So can we go see her, Dad? Can we?"

The enthusiasm on all of their faces tells me that I really can't deny them. Plus, I wouldn't mind seeing Steph, too. It's only been since yesterday, but any time apart from her feels like an eternity. I've noticed that she's been on my mind a lot more than usual lately. I can't stop myself from worrying about her, day and night. I'm scared that _it_ will happen…when I'm not by her side. Then again, I'm not sure I'll be able to hold myself together if I'm physically present at the scene. Hell, I know I won't be able to keep my emotions intact. Let's face it. No matter how long you prepare yourself for this type of thing, none of it even matters when time officially runs out.

I shake the thought from my mind. It's becoming more difficult to remain optimistic. Raking my fingers through my loose locks, I hold out my wrist to glance at my watch. We never make hospital visits this late, but tonight will have to be an exception.

"Go get your things," I say softly. My eyes fall on Aurora's head and I repress the residual sensation of nausea. "And er, Aurora? Do your dear old dad a favor and put a hat on? The new do, so to speak, will definitely take some getting used to."

"But Dad…" She giggles quietly, in spite of her protest.

I pick up a pink knit hat from the floor and toss it towards her. Wearing a slight pout, she catches it.

"Just trust me on this one, kiddo. Trust me."

* * *

"Can I please take this thing off, Dad? It's like eighty-five degrees in here!" she whines, obstinately tugging at the accessory. "I'm sweating in places where I shouldn't be sweating."

I shake my head defiantly. "Not now. You girls wait here while I go sign in at the front desk. Try not to cause any trouble in the meantime, eh?"

"No promises," Aurora mutters under her breath.

Within the past few weeks, I've picked up on a significant change in her attitude. At times, she seems more bitter and sarcastic. Her grades in school will go up and down, depending on what mood she's in. And her mood solely relies on how well Stephanie is doing. That's why I always enter the room before them. It's sort of like testing the waters before diving into the dangerous depths, not knowing what to expect. The last thing I need is for my daughters to walk in on their mother coughing up blood or writhing in excruciating pain. I've witnessed both situations firsthand and can confirm that it isn't a pleasant experience. Seeing Stephanie hurting in any way, shape, or form makes my heart ache. God knows what it would do to them.

As I reach the desk, I exchange greetings with the woman behind it. She's in her thirties, if I had to guess and is wearing light blue scrubs. I'm guessing she's new, judging by the fact that I've never seen her. Or maybe she only works the night shift. She tucks a lock of blonde hair behind one ear, preparing to type on her keyboard.

"Your name, sir?" she asks politely.

"Paul Levesque."

"Okay," she says, fumbling with a stack of papers. "You're bringing your daughter in for an appointment or…?"

I crinkle my brow defiantly. "What? My daughter isn't…"

Shit. I spin around to face the direction in which the woman is staring. As expected, Aurora is standing there talking to her sisters, with the pink hat in her hand. I inwardly sigh. I'll have to explain to her later that she can't show up to the hospital looking like a patient. Before I know it, she'll be swarmed by nurses to be pricked and poked with needles and such.

"My daughter's not sick," I clarify.

"Oh, never mind then." The blonde turns her face slightly to conceal her blush stained cheeks. She seems to be more confused than embarrassed. I wouldn't blame her though. "Then how many I help you, sir?"

"I'm here to visit Stephanie McMahon," I say. "Or maybe it's under Levesque. I don't know if the hospital has changed it yet."

"She's you're wife?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Okay. Well she's still in the same room, so if you remember where that is, you're free to go on back," she says, gesturing to the doorway.

"Thank you." I redirect my gaze to my kids and beckon them over with my hand. "Hat on," I instruct simply, once they reach me. I don't anticipate any more misinterpretations among the hospital staff concerning my eldest.

We walk down the all too familiar hallways in utter silence. This place, odd as it may sound, seems like a second home to us. For me, it practically is. Stephanie will forever and always be my home. The closer we get, the more anxious I become. I just want to be with her. Since she was readmitted to the hospital, our time together has been limited. For a bit, it seemed like her health was actually improving. Then about a month after our wedding, a routine checkup showed that the cancer had spread. It was hard to handle, but we really were left with no option. In order for them to monitor her more efficiently, she needed to live in the hospital.

That was about a month ago. Since then, I've made a point to visit her every other day at least. For the first week though, you could have said that I lived in the hospital, too. I would sleep in the stiff chair at her bedside, finding it nearly impossible to unlatch my hand from hers. I couldn't leave her. It felt so wrong and the notion made me sick, but with enough persuasion, Stephanie finally made me realize that I couldn't live like that. I'm a father first and foremost.

"You guys know the drill," I begin, as they sit in an arrangement of chairs. "Stay here until I come get you, okay?"

They nod in unison.

Wiping my palms against my jeans, I walk towards the recognizable door. I rap my knuckles against it quietly before slipping inside.

As usual, the lighting is low and the buzzing machines are the only sounds that fill the room. My eyes meet with Stephanie's, causing my stomach to flutter the slightest bit. My shoes are audible against the tile floor as I advance towards the bed. The grin on my face undoubtedly mirrors the wide one she's wearing.

"You're here!" she croaks excitedly.

"Surprise," I hush.

Leaning down, I press the gentlest of kisses to her lips, letting my mouth hover there momentarily. Her lips are pale and chapped, but that doesn't make the kiss any less wonderful. The sensation is tender and sweet. We pull apart and I sit down in the chair beside her. I take her hand into mine, tracing light circles with my thumb on the back of her hand. Her skin is cold as usual. I can't remember the last time it was warm.

"How are you feeling?" I ask softly.

She repositions herself in the bed so that she can lie on her side more to face me. She adjusts the breathing tube in her nose and smiles. The two things that never fail to stay the same are her eyes and her smile. Christ, she really is beautiful.

"I'm okay, but better now that you're here. Did the girls come with you?"

I nod, even though she's subtly dodged my question. "They're waiting outside."

"Can I see them?"

"Sure, Steph. I'll be back in a sec," I reply simply.

About two minutes later, after retrieving our daughters, I reenter the room. Stephanie's entire face lights up merely at the sight of them. They all rush eagerly to her bedside to embrace her and shower her with love. I lean against the wall with my arms folded over my chest.

"I missed you, Mommy!" Vaughn squeals with excitement.

"Oh, baby girl," Stephanie murmurs, holding our youngest protectively against her chest. The image itself warms my heart. Watching my wife interact with the lives that we created means more to me than anyone will ever know. "I missed you so, so much. You have no idea. I love you, honey."

"I love you, too," she replies.

Once she pulls back and steps away, Murphy does the same. When its Aurora's turn, she uneasily inches her way towards Stephanie with a sheepish smile adorning her face. It looks as if Steph parts her lips to speak, but Aurora interjects before she can.

"Before you say anything," she begins, removing the hat from her head slowly. "I did this for you."

Stephanie's eyes widen in complete shock. She lifts her hand to cover her mouth.

"You…didn't," she whispers. "My God, you...did. What…did you do?"

"It's funny. Dad kind of reacted the same way, except there was more cursing."

She cheekily throws a smirk in my direction. I glare at her in response.

"Steph," I begin, holding my hands up in defense. "I had nothing to do with this!"

"I'm sure you didn't," she replies in mock disbelief. Hesitantly, she reaches out to lightly stroke our daughter's hairless head. Aurora leans into the touch. "Your beautiful brown locks…they're gone. Aurora Rose, what were you thinking?"

She looks up at Steph with a genuinely sweet stare. "That I wanted to be beautiful like you."

"Come here."

Instantly, Aurora melts into Stephanie's arms and the sound I hear can be identified as crying. Not Stephanie, but Aurora. The rest of us look on uneasily. I don't know about Murphy and Vaughn, but I begin to feel my own eyes getting misty.

After about an hour of talking and simply enjoying this sacred time as a family, Stephanie pulls me close to her, so that I'm at her level. Her lighthearted expression has shifted to a more serious one. I blink once and wait for her to say something.

"We need to talk," she mouths. Her blue eyes briefly travel towards the girls then back to me. It's her unspoken way of telling me that this conversation is to be held between us two only. I rise to my feet from the chair.

"Alright, munchkins. Say bye to Mom. You'll see her again soon," I promise.

"Awww, but I don't wanna leave just yet, Daddy!" Vaughn complains in her nothing but innocent tone. Before I can say anything, Aurora pipes up.

"Don't worry, Vaughn. They're just gonna have one of those 'adult conversations' that makes everyone else in the room uncomfortable. It's best that we don't stick around for that."

Aurora winks at me slyly and I return the gesture with a grateful smile. After uttering their goodbyes to Steph, it's just me and her. With the girls gone, the room is seemingly vacant and the beeping machines are more noticeable. Stephanie offers me a reluctant smile.

"So what's up?"

"I have…some news," she says quietly.

I clear my throat and squeeze her hand, leaning closer to her. "What kind of news?"

"I'm coming home."

Ecstatically, I fuse my mouth with hers. "Baby, that's great!" I mumble against her lips.

She smiles meekly, but averts my gaze. Something's up. Something's not right. She's supposed to be happy. But she's not happy. This is what we've been waiting for. She catches my edgy drift and places her hand on my cheek in a pacifying manner.

"Paul," she starts austerely. "I'm stopping chemo."

And in the blink of an eye, everything changes. The words hit me like a ton of bricks. All at once. My bliss comes to an end and my stomach feels sick, only worse than it did earlier.

"You…you can't. You can't do this, Stephanie. Why…when did you make this decision?"

"I've been thinking about it for two weeks now," she replies with a sigh.

"And you didn't think to discuss this with me ahead of time? To ask my opinion of it?" I feel the blood boiling inside of me, my heart thumping with rage. I don't understand her logic. I…can't.

"I didn't think it was your decision to make!" she nearly shouts, her voice cracking at the last word.

"It isn't! But it's not yours either! It's _ours_!"

She's crying now. Her chest rises and falls hastily as she shuts her eyes tightly. She yanks her hand back, out of my reach. I didn't mean for it to come to this. I really didn't.

"Stop…yelling…at me," she manages to get out in between sobs. She's right. I need to stop. Fighting with her never does anything, except make me feel horrible. I lower my head shamefully. "I'm doing what I feel is best."

"For who?" I ask with a calmer but still firm pitch.

"Everyone," Stephanie whispers. She reaches out to lift my chin so that I'm forced to look into her magnificent blue orbs. They're glossy and a pang of guilty hits me in the chest like a dagger. "Sweetheart, I've been fighting this losing battle for far too long. I'm only delaying my fate, not changing it. The chemo won't kill the cancer, Paul. I'm running low on healthy cells. These treatments are only putting me through more pain than I should have to endure. I puke my guts out at least five times a day. I always have a headache and I can't stay awake for more than a few hours. The only other option is surgery and the odds aren't in my favor, even then. Why put my body through so much more if it won't do much at all? Do you see where I'm coming from here?" She pauses. "I want you to know that this has nothing to do with you. You and the girls are the only reason that I've hung on for so long." With the pad of her thumb, she wipes away the tear that trickles down my cheek. "I love you so much. I always will. But…I think it's time, baby."

I can't seem to form words with my numb lips. Instead, I collapse into her open arms. My body shakes hysterically against her frail abdomen. I try to blink back the tears, but I can't. It's too much. This is too much. I feel myself slipping away, out of consciousness. The darkness consumes me. I can't lose her to this. I can't lose the only woman I've ever loved. She's my everything.

"Shhh," she murmurs, pressing her lips to the top of my head. "You're gonna be okay, Paul."


End file.
